High School Never Ends
by imperfectcadenza
Summary: Inception AU. The Fischer team meet in their high school years, and a strong friendship forms between them. It all starts with Mr Saito's Neuroscience Club...A story of pianos, beanies, sweatbands, scarves, pasta and love.
1. The Best Years Of Your Life

**Chapter One – The Best Years Of Your Life**

Ariadne sat in Geography, bored out of her brain. She glanced up at the clock, her mind muting the teacher's rambling. Ten-thirty. Ten minutes until recess.

Her pencil lay unused on her notepad; she picked it up and started to sketch a maze on the clean page. She continued to do so until the bell shattered her daydreaming and the world started up again around her.

* * *

_Truth: objective or subjective?_

Dom gazed down at the question on his page. He tried to concentrate, but he was distracted by his girlfriend's smile across the room. She looked over at him and nodded downwards, her glossy curls bouncing with the movement. He looked down. The boy beside him held out a curl of paper with his name on it. He picked it up and unfurled it, grinning at the message: _Loving the jacket. Love, Mallorie_. The bell rang, and he stuffed the note into the pocket of his leather jacket and waited at the door for her to join him.

* * *

"Robert, you can do better than this."

His father's voice cut through his head. Robert, or Fish Face as he was elegantly nicknamed, grimaced down at his test paper. The problems seemed like they were in a foreign language, and even the numbers made no sense to him whatsoever. The voice kept on judging him. Minutes slipped past with no work being done.

All at once the answers came to him, the second he was able to block the voice from his mind. He scribbled down each calculation with unmatchable speed, and his pen left the final page as the bell rang for recess.

* * *

"Faggot!"

The voice ricocheted off the locker room walls. Arthur tensed up, closing his eyes. _Just ignore them_, he insisted to himself. He swept waves of his dark hair behind his ears and imagined that he was the only one there.

But the taunts kept coming. He changed quietly in the corner, keeping his back turned away from the other boys. Suddenly a hand gripped his shirtless back and swung him around. It was Marcus, the sports prefect. "Thought you could keep your _type_ hidden in a co-ed school, huh?" he spat in Arthur's face. He grabbed Arthur's nipples and twisted them as hard as he could. "You like that, faggot?" Arthur winced, but the pain was easy to bear. The real damage was under his sweatbands, self-inflicted.

The whole locker room was chanting "Fight! Fight! Fight!" as Marcus pinched Arthur's cheeks so hard that they raised red marks. _You cannot hurt me nearly as much as I can hurt myself_, he mused. Suddenly a voice rang out amongst the cheers and claps. "Get away from him."

Marcus sprang back from Arthur, for the voice sounded like one of the teachers'. But it was the new quarterback of the football team. "If I _ever_ see you harming that guy again, there'll be trouble," he said, his tone menacing. Marcus gulped.

He grinned, stepped away from Marcus, and said cheerfully to Arthur, "Don't worry. I'll keep the wolves at bay." Then he turned to his sports bag and began to change.

Arthur gazed at his knight in shining armour with newfound respect. The boy turned around again, his muscles gleaming on his chest, and said, "Oh, and I'm William. But you can call me Eames."


	2. Mr Saito's Neuroscience Club

**Chapter Two – Mr. Saito's Neuroscience Club**

Recess was a noisy, cluttered storm. The cafeteria was divided loosely into grades; over with the cool, arty twelfth graders sat Dominic and Mallorie, in the scowling pack of eleventh-graders sat Arthur, Eames and Robert, and Ariadne sat with the chipper eighth grade. None of them paid much attention to the other years.

At one point Ariadne glanced up from chatting with her friends and swept her eyes across the cafeteria. There was her cousin Dom, wearing sunglasses and eating lasagna with his arm around his girlfriend Mallorie. In the centre of the eleventh-grade tables was her new next-door neighbor Eames, laughing with the football team. Over in the corner was that geek Fish Face, the one who aced every exam and rarely spoke to anyone but his Dictaphone. At the very edge of the group sat the quiet kid at an otherwise empty table, his hair falling in his eyes, his shoulders hunched over. He was pretty cute. Ariadne waved shyly at him, and he glanced up with a weak smile.

The only connection between the six of them came at the end of recess. One by one, they left their tables and passed the bulletin board. They all paused at the sheet of peppermint-coloured paper in the corner. _Neuroscience Club?_ they all pondered, and wrote their names on the sign-up sheet. Lunch on that same day brought the first meeting.

* * *

The lunch bell rang. Arthur made his way to Room 42, wondering what Neuroscience Club actually was. He was quite interested in the brain and how it worked, especially how it functioned while dreaming. He reached the room (number of things thrown at him on the way: six) and opened the door.

Surprisingly, the only ones there were two popular kids and a brunette Year 8 with a cheerful demeanor. Dominic Cobb, practically the leader of the whole school, was reclining in a near-broken chair, and his beautiful yet coldhearted girlfriend Mallorie Suite was inspecting her French-polished nails. The Year 8 bounded up to him. "Hi," she gushed, shaking his hand. "I'm Ariadne Mavitch! What's your name?"

He blinked at her. "Arthur," he stammered. "Hey, you're the kid across the street, right? With the hedge mazes and stuff?"

Her face fell and her shoulders sagged. "Yeah, I guess," she mumbled. Arthur wondered what he had said to make that happen. As usual, everything was his fault.

"Hey, Ari's not a _kid_!" said Dominic, sauntering over to her. He squeezed her shoulders and she frowned up at him in mock annoyance. "She's a _woman_ now! She has a haaandbaaaag and a traaaiiiining braaaaa and everyth-"

Ariadne slapped a hand up over his mouth to muffle his teasing. "Alright, that's enough, heh heh," she laughed nervously. She blushed at Arthur. "Ignore my cousin. He's a douche."

"Nah, he's cool," said Arthur. "I've heard about you though, Dominic. You're, like, the top authority on neuroscience in this school?"

Dominic removed his sunglasses. "No, that'd be Mr. Saito. He's a genius."

Mallorie flipped her compact open and raised one plucked eyebrow at Arthur. "And you're the gay kid who everybody hates?" she quipped.

Arthur smiled halfheartedly, throwing up his palms. "That'd be me," he admitted, completely oblivious to Ariadne's dropped jaw and tearful eyes.

"Don't worry about the gay thing. Everybody's different, and we're okay with that," said Dominic with a grin. "Aren't we, guys?"

Mallorie mumbled something derogatory but replied, "Yeah."

"Another thing about Mr. Saito; he's a bit weird," warned Dominic. "He has this whole thing about money and world domination, but you get used to it."

Suddenly the door opened and a tall man walked in. He was well-dressed, black hair styled to perfection, Asian features arranged in a scowl. "Speak of the devil," murmured Dominic.

"Welcome to Neuroscience Club," announced Mr. Saito with a thick Japanese accent. "I sure you will enjoy it. Maybe for you it so confusing but I try to make it easy, yeah?" He passed a stack of booklets to Dominic. "Hand these around, will you? And read again three times. Easier to understand."

Mildly amused, Arthur flipped through the booklet. It was mostly about his favourite subject, the subconscious. He underlined a few passages, noting to himself that he had a lot more to learn.

The door opened again, and a familiar voice followed the hooded figure sauntering in. "Sorry I'm late, Mr. S." Arthur froze, feigning extreme interest in the booklet cover. It was that guy from the locker room, the one who had stood up for him. Eames.

"That okay, William," beamed Mr. Saito. "You share Arthur booklet, I only make four copies."

Eames sat down beside Arthur with a smile. "It's you again!" Arthur blinked at him. Wait, had he actually remembered him? "They're still talking about you. But at least they're not beating you up, right?" Yes. He had.

Eames's hand touched Arthur's five times as they read through the booklet in perfect unison. The minutes passed by with the quarterback's body infuriatingly close to his, almost close enough to touch forearms, shoulders, feet. He breathed in his scent: aftershave and sweat. _Delicious_. The word ran through Arthur's mind before he could stop it. He shook his head and continued reading.

Five minutes before the end of lunch, the door burst open a third time and in rushed Robert Fischer. "Sorry, Mr. Saito, sir," he gabbled. "I was locked in the janitor's closet by some uncouth schoolmates and I couldn't – "

"Shut up, Fish Face," snapped Mr. Saito. "You go share with the girl. You a girl," he said, giggling to himself.

The bell rang and everyone but Eames and Ariadne left the room. Ariadne stood by the window, sighing. "That Arthur guy is so cuuuute," she gushed. "It's such a shame."

Eames froze. "He's not your type," he replied dismissively, flexing his sore muscles.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Eames, something you should know about me is that I like every brown-eyed guy I meet," she said in a patronizing tone. "If he's not my type, then whose type is he?"

Hooking her handbag over her shoulder, she flounced out of the room. She left a strong scent of Impulse and Tic Tacs, but she exited too early to hear Eames' last, almost inaudible word: "Mine."


	3. A Reason To Live

**Chapter Three – A Reason To Live**

(Author's note: Yusuf gets involved _eventually_, I swear! But be prepared to wait a while. :P)

The second meeting was held on the following Tuesday. The six of them piled into the room as soon as a duty teacher unlocked it; it was freezing cold outside.

Eames sprinted to the radiator and turned it on full blast. "Oh, that feels good," he moaned, laughing as he slid down to sit on the floor with his back against the bars. Arthur blinked at him. _Arthur, just concentrate. Just relax. Eames isn't over there and he definitely did not say that in your dream last night._ Mr Saito walked in with three sweaters on and a brightly patterned beanie with earflaps. "What?" he said when they all looked at him. "It cold."

The meeting was livelier than last week's awkward collection of unacquainted people. They already felt like friends, and they all contributed to the discussion with a depth that surprised the others, let alone themselves.

Everything was positive until the few minutes before the bell. Everyone had left except Eames and Arthur. And it would've been an uneventful if quiet conversation if Arthur's sweater hadn't shrugged up his arms and revealed the scars.

"And I guess that's when I really got into learning about how our brains work, you know?" Arthur babbled nervously, packing up his books. "But honestly – "

"Arthur." Eames's voice jolted him out of his pointless reverie. It was concerned, alarmed. "Arthur, what's on your arms?"

He froze, and instantly yanked down his sleeves. "Just my sketching ideas," he mumbled, not daring to look up and gauge the boy's response. Would he see through him? Or would he just skim the surface like everybody else in Arthur's life?

"I know what that is. My cousin died by doing that," Eames said quietly. "I have to go, so I'll get to the point. You have to stop this, Arthur. It's not as bad as it seems. Once high school's over you can move away, find new people, get a new life. You just have to hold on."

"It's not that simple," said Arthur. "It's never going to end. It's the only way – " His voice stumbled. "It's the only way I feel something, anything."

Maybe it was for emphasis, maybe out of kindness, but Eames walked over to him and took his face in his hands. Traced the lines of his jaw with his fingers. "Arthur," he said softly, with genuine concern, "please stop hurting yourself. For me. If you can't stop for anything else, do it for me." Sad eyes gazed into his own, and he realized that how could he continue? How could he disappoint the one person who actually cared about him?

Eames seemed to realize what he was doing, and he broke the intimate silence before it raised questions in his mind that he didn't want to answer. "Ah, well, I gotta go," he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Seeya." And he walked quickly out of the room.

Arthur stared back at him and sighed quietly. Of course he'd leave. Who'd want to be best friends with the gay guy, right? But still he closed his eyes tight and promised harder than he'd ever promised in his life that he would stop. For him.

Only for him.


	4. Confidence and Pasta

**Chapter Four – Confidence and Pasta**

It was such a lovely day, the next Monday, that the members of the Neuroscience Club decided to sit together at lunch. They discussed aneurysms and strokes as they walked to the cafeteria, and it was only when they settled into a table at the centre of the room that they noticed the hateful stares all around them. It was against the norm for people from different years to mix, let alone people of different social status. Hell, most of the student body hated anything even remotely different.

Dom was the first one to notice that most of the scowls were directed at Arthur. "Oh, grow up, you guys," he scolded the crowd around them.

"Faggot!" yelled one of the guys on the basketball team, crumpling up a wad of paper and throwing it at Arthur.

Arthur curled his shoulders forward and poked his mac and cheese with his fork. His hair fell forward into his eyes, and despite his preference Ariadne sighed in admiration.

"Now hold on a second," Dom was saying as he stood up. "You can't go about your lives being afraid of change and anything different, right? Times are changing, and we can be whoever we want to be. And we have to respect each other's choices, okay?" Scowls, but a few nods and whispers.

"Just grow up, all of you," said Arthur suddenly, standing up and stepping out from the bench seat to stand next to Dom. "I'm gay, but it's not like it's a contagious disease or anything. I certainly don't find any of you attractive, mostly because you're so prejudiced and partially because you're so incredibly _tiny_. I mean, do you have any modesty whatsoever?" All the girls were cheering by now. The guys were just dropping their gazes and blushing fiercely red. A voice came up beside him that made him freeze.

"Wait, wait, hang on a minute," said Eames, getting up and meeting Arthur and Dom in front of the table. He turned to Arthur. "You're actually gay? So they weren't just teasing you or anything?" he asked incredulously.

Arthur felt his blood run cold. _Oh, not again._ This wasn't the first time he'd lost a valuable friend due to the way he was. He didn't blame Eames for hating him now. He was a degenerate; a despicable person who didn't deserve love from men _or_ women. He hung his head and prepared to walk away and score endless red lines into his skin.

But Eames was smiling."Oh, thank God!" he exclaimed with evident relief. "I thought I was the only one." And with this he stepped even closer, wrapped his arms around Arthur's back, and kissed him.

People gasped as the kiss went on, because, really, Eames? Out of all people? Gradually Arthur's body warmed up again. He shifted in Eames's arms, still unable to believe that this was happening. The people around them – were they cheering? Were those wolf-whistles ringing out from the grinning crowd? Christ, was Ariadne _crying_?

The answer was yes, yes, yes. Arthur let his hands find Eames's neck and pulled him in deeper, feeling the heat of their bodies pressed together. Relishing it. Loving every moment that he was alive. Because now he had a reason to be here, somebody to live for, somebody to love.

He broke away from Eames just as a duty teacher walked past. "Well," said Eames with a blissful grin, stroking Arthur's jawline, "that was bloody fantastic. Mac and cheese?" he suggested, taking his arm and leading him to the table.

Arthur couldn't stop smiling. He sat down beside Eames and rested his head on his shoulder, wondering why he'd ever wanted to leave.


End file.
